


medicine

by Iwillseduceyouwithmyweirdness



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Sam Winchester is a Good Bro, Self-Harm, early seasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:27:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28613586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwillseduceyouwithmyweirdness/pseuds/Iwillseduceyouwithmyweirdness
Summary: 'just leave it alone, would you? It’s nothing.’‘Is this the kind of nothing that is actually nothing, or the kind that will come back to bite us in the ass later?’or, Sam knows there's something Dean's not telling him, and he sure as hell isn't going to drop it until he knows what it is
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	medicine

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I'm back on my bullshit 
> 
> The whole drama with the finale reignighted my love for these characters. They deserved better. But im still out here to put them through hell for my own purposes. I'm considering rewatching it now because i stopped after like season 10 maybe?
> 
> Anyways, be careful of the tags and don't read if you think it will trigger you <3

When Sam first came back from Stanford, he didn’t really notice how every time Dean showered, he took a change of clothes with him despite the fact that, when they were younger, he always used to complain about how the steam from the shower made his skin feel clammy when he redressed in the bathroom.

During those first weeks, Sam was a mess of guilt, his emotions blocking out all other thoughts. For a while, he could barely drag himself out of bed each morning, let alone notice what his brother was trying (successfully) to hide from him.

In the weeks that followed, however, Sam became increasingly more perceptive; a change that seemed to unsettle Dean for some unknown reason.

‘How come you always change in the bathroom?’ Sam had asked once while they ate greasy burgers in a run down diner opposite the motel they were staying in until they’d worked out what was going on with all the missing people nearby.

‘Huh,’ Dean choked, trying to remain causal, but not looking his brother in the eye, ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

‘You do. Have done since I came back.’

‘Can’t a man get a little privacy anymore, Sammy?’ Dean said, voice full of confidence, despite the fact that his eyes continued to dart anywhere other than his brother’s face. ‘We’re not kids anymore, and we practically live in each other’s pockets. Sometimes I need some space.’

‘I know that – ’

‘Then just leave it alone, would you? It’s nothing.’

‘Is this the kind of nothing that is actually nothing, or the kind that will come back to bite us in the ass later?’

Dean didn’t reply, just carefully picked his burger back up. Sam pretended not to notice how his hands shook.

* * *

It wasn’t long before the issue came up again. This time, Sam was ready for it; knew he had to push more in order to get some real answers. The only trouble was that the broken radiator that was highlighting his brother’s suspicious behaviour was also making them both irritable.

‘Dean, it’s like a sauna in here. How are you still wearing a jumper?’

‘I’m fine.’ Dean paused, lowering his hand from where he was wiping sweat off his brow.

He was ready for the question this time, but it still made his stomach clench with anxiety.

‘You must have a t shirt in here,’ Sam continued, as if Dean hadn’t said a word, starting to dig around in his brother’s duffel bag.

‘Quit it. I already said I’m fine. Its not that hot in here, anyway.’

Sam sighed, relenting. He could see Dean’s jaw muscle ticking from across the room. It would have been so easy to make a snarky reply; it was certainly tempting to, given Dean’s apparent disregard for his own health. Instead however, Sam made his way to the grubby mini fridge in the kitchen, pulling out two beers. ‘At least drink this then if you insist on boiling yourself alive.’

Dean nodded, keeping his eyes glued to the newspaper article he was reading. ‘I think I’ve found us a job.’

* * *

The next plan Sam came up with was to ask Dean when he was drunk. He wasn’t entirely sure _why_ he felt such a strong need to know why his brother refused to wear short sleeves, or change in their shared room, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to give up.

It took two more hunts before Sam found his opportunity; Dean had gone to the local dive bar, hoping to hustle enough for a good meal, and maybe even a stay in a better class of motel. Of course, this was also an excuse to get blind drunk.

‘Come with me,’ Dean had said before he left, grinning, already half a beer down.

‘Nah, I’m pretty tired, reckon I’ll get an early night.’

‘Alright, princess. But you should let your hair down once in a while.’

‘Next time.’

‘Alright. Well, don’t wait up.’ Dean said, heading out the door.

Sam was definitely going to wait up. Being drunk seemed to be the only time that Dean ever had loose lips, and there was no way he was going to pass up this opportunity for questioning.

He had to bite back a smile when Dean attempted to quietly sneak back into the motel, sometime after one. The sight of him trying to quietly close the door and tiptoe to bed, while making more noise than seemed humanly possible reminded Sam of before he had left for Stanford. Something about it suddenly made him realise how much older – and sadder – Dean seemed; the thought hit him like a brick to the stomach.

It was only when Dean was fully in the room that he noticed Sam watching from his bed. ‘Hey,’ he croaked, voice hoarse.

‘Hey yourself.’ Sam sat up a little, plumping the flimsy pillows behind his back. ‘Good night?’

‘Not bad. Met some crazy guy who thought I was hitting on his girlfriend.’

‘ _Were_ you hitting on his girlfriend?’

‘Well, yeah, but – ’

‘Maybe he wasn’t so crazy then, huh, Dean?’

Dean shrugged, clumsily dragging a long sleeve shirt out of his duffle. Frowning, Sam watched as he walked, a little unsteady to the bathroom. He wondered whether he should have just pretended to be asleep – maybe then Dean wouldn’t have changed his shirt in the bathroom, and he could have gotten a look at whatever his brother was so determined for him not to see.

Once the door was closed behind him, Dean carefully peeled off the shirt he was wearing, sighing when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Judging by the half drunk mug of coffee on the bedside table, Sam had purposely waited up for him – something that hadn’t happened since Dean was a teenager and first started going to bars alone.

It did not bode well; Sam had been far too curious about Dean’s obsession with long sleeves recently, and once he got an idea in his head, he just wouldn’t leave it alone.

Letting out a shaky breath (which Dean liked to think was from nothing but the booze), he turned to stare at himself in the mirror. At first glance, his body looked just like every other hunter’s he’d seen: full of strange scars and burns that littered skin like sickening constellations and told the story of the jobs he’d worked. All the close calls, all the times he’d had to jump in front of some poor civilian to save them.

But on closer inspection, the neat sets of scars that scattered his forearms were unmistakable – they were too straight and meticulous to have been caused by any supernatural creature. Not only that, but running through them were two fat, pink scars that ran from wrist to elbow. They were still barely healed, skin sensitive and pulling uncomfortably whenever Dean overreached. They were just older than his newly healed relationship with his brother, and felt much the same: fragile and painful at unexpected times. The doctors had told him at the time that there might be nerve damage, and he certainly still didn’t have full strength, but luckily it was no longer so noticeable that he had to actively hide it from his brother.

Scrubbing a tired hand over his face, Dean dragged his clean shirt on, bracing himself as he made his way back towards where Sam was waiting for him.

‘You got some tattoo you don’t want me to see?’ Sam asked as soon as Dean reappeared.

‘What?’

‘What’s with the long sleeves all the time?’

He shrugged, ‘I’ve not been keeping track of what I’m wearing. My t shirts are dirty.’

‘You wouldn’t even wear a t shirt when you were burning up in that motel a few jobs back. How dirty can they be?’ A pause. ‘Is this something I should be concerned about?’

In the weeks and months since this conversation, Sam would curse himself. Of course there was something to be concerned about. Nothing good ever came from the secrets Dean kept from him. Why hadn’t he pushed harder? Why didn’t he force his brother to show him? But as it was, he hadn’t.

‘Go the fuck to sleep Sammy,’ Dean had told him, with no heat in his voice, flopping face first onto the bed.

Despite the sleeves covering his arms, Dean still felt far too exposed with his brother’s eyes on him while he pretended to sleep.

* * *

‘Fuck,’ Dean gasped.

Sam glanced over at him from the driver’s seat of the car. ‘You good, man?’

Nodding, Dean shifted slightly in his seat, ‘yeah, yeah, just wish the damn bleeding would stop.’ He said, leaning to the left slightly in an attempt not to get blood on Baby’s upholstery.

Something tightened in Sam’s gut. ‘If it hasn’t stopped by now, you’re gonna need stitches.’

‘It doesn’t.’ Dean argued, voice firm.

‘Dean, that son of a bitch looked like he was trying to chop your arm clean off. No wonder you need stitches. It’ll only take a few minutes. Just sit tight, we’re almost back. Why isn’t the damn first aid kit in the car anyway?’

Dean was silent, knee bouncing anxiously while they drove. He was cursing his carelessness; what if it had been Sam that had been injured? It would be his fault for keeping the medical supplies in the motel room for his _habit_ instead of in the car for when they needed it.

The tense atmosphere didn’t disperse as they entered the motel, and Sam found himself apprehensive for whatever argument he was going to make in order to convince Dean that he needed to let him treat his arm.

‘You know the drill,’ Sam said, scanning the room for the first aid kit.

Dean only nodded, face pale.

As Sam followed Dean further inside, he was reminded strongly of a caged animal, all teeth and claws on the surface to hide the stress deeper down. The first true sign that something was really wrong was when Dean would not stop pacing.

‘Alright, I can manage from here. You have the first shower while I patch myself up.’

Sam looked up, pausing his task of laying out all the things he would need to stitch Dean’s arm. ‘What’s going on here? Really? Because I think that’s the first time you’ve ever offered me first shower.’

‘Can’t a guy be generous for once?’

‘Not when they’re bleeding out, no. This has something to do with whatever you’re hiding, doesn’t it?’

‘No,’ Dean said, swallowing visibly and continuing to pace, ‘it just seems dumb for you to stitch it when I can do it myself.’

‘How are you gonna do that when the injury is on your dominant arm, huh?’

‘I can manage.’

‘Sure, Dean, how’d you figure that one out?’

‘What do you think I had to do when I got injured working a job after you left for college?’ Dean bit out, rounding on his brother angrily. Then, quietly, ‘not like I had Dad to stitch me back up.’

‘Dean,’ Sam sighed, not able to meet his brother’s eyes.

‘ _No._ Stop it. Don’t go all fuckin’ puppy eyes on me dude. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Of course it does.’ Sam argued, appalled. ‘What if you’d not been able to stop the bleeding? What would you have done?’

Dean snorted wryly, remembering the night he’d decided it was time to give up for good. ‘Bobby came and patched me up once,’ he said bitterly, not meeting Sam’s eyes.

‘Good. Dean that’s good.’ Sam’s eyebrows were still knitted together in a deep frown, his expression pinched as if he were talking to someone on one of their jobs. ‘You don’t have to do it yourself this time though. So, sit.’

Still bitching under his breath, Dean relented, plopping down heavily in the seat on the opposite side of the table and placing his arm between them. ‘Fine. Just don’t – we’re not talking about this alright?’

‘About what?’

He cursed. If he had the stones, he would just tell Sam, save him finding out like this. Maybe it would be fairer to him that way. He only needed to say something vague: _I cut my self this morning_ or maybe _I struggled when you were at college_ , anything to prepare him just a little. ‘Just – we’re not having a chick flick moment okay.’ He said instead.

‘Alright,’ Sam said quickly, desperate to stop Dean losing any more blood.

Carefully, he began cutting away the tattered material that surrounded the gash on his brother’s forearm. It was only once he’d wiped away some of the surrounding blood that he got the first look at the injury. It wasn’t as deep as he had been imagining, but the sides of it were still gaping sickeningly. It was only then that Sam realised that it intersected with another, rope-thick scar that ran in the opposite direction. He made an involuntary noise of surprise somewhere in the back of his throat.

‘I said we’re not talking about it.’ Dean butted in immediately, before Sam even had a chance to open his mouth.

‘I take it that it’s exactly what it looks like then?’ He asked dryly, noticing the other clusters of scars scattered across his wrist.

Dean huffed, looking away. ‘Just stitch the damn thing. I don’t have time for this today.’

For a blissful moment, Dean thought that he was going to get his wish as Sam went back to cleaning the injury.

‘I’m not an idiot Dean,’ he mumbled, as he threaded the needle.

‘You sure act like one enough.’

‘I know when a scar is new.’

Dean shifted uncomfortably as Sam began to sew, trying to ignore the dizzying pulling sensation every time the thread was tied off.

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing.’

‘It’s not nothing! You could have died, Dean.’

‘Yeah,’ Dean said bitterly, ‘I’m well aware of that.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me? I could have – I don’t know – I could have helped.’

‘Helped with what?’ Dean asked, giving Sam a hard stare, ‘I wanted to do it.’

Sam pursed his lips and finished his stitching in silence. ‘You still do it, don’t you?’ He could see the muscle in his brother’s jaw ticking, his shoulders set and ready for a fight.

‘These are all scars Sammy.’ Dean said in leu of an actual answer.

Snorting, Sam began wrapping gauze around Dean’s arm. ‘I’m assuming this isn’t the only place you cut. Probably only do it here on really bad days given you’d have to use your nondominant hand to do it.’

‘Right.’ Dean mumbled grumpily, shifting his body away from the table as if he were getting ready to flee at slightest opportunity.

‘Dean, it’s okay – ’

‘Damn it, Sammy! It’s clearly not. Just leave it alone.’

‘No. I won’t. Listen, I know you don’t think you’re worth saving. It’s kind of hard _not_ to notice honestly, and its only gotten worse since I’ve been back. Maybe we should take some time away from hunting for a while ‘til we sort this out.’

‘What? No, Sammy, don’t be stupid.’

‘Dean – ’

‘People will die if we’re not out there.’

‘And what about you, huh? This is killing you too.’

‘I can handle it.’

‘Sure.’ Sam said, pursing his lips and tugging Dean back to face him again. ‘It really looks like you are. Why can’t you just let someone help you for a change, huh?’

‘I don’t – ’

‘Need help. Yeah. I get that.’ Sam sighed, licking his lips nervously, ‘what do you use?’

It wasn’t the question either of them expected, and it struck Dean dumb long enough for some of the tension to diffuse. He deflated a little, as if the gravity of the situation was finally sinking in. ‘I – ’ he ran a hand over his face, trying to scrub away some of the tiredness that seemed to linger over him these days. ‘A razor blade.’

‘Okay, I’m gonna need to look after that for you.’

‘That won’t stop me.’

‘I know.’ He tried to make Dean look at him, ducking his head to get into his brother’s sight line, ‘but maybe it will make you realise you have other options. You don’t have to say it out loud, but we can work on distraction techniques. Will you at least try? Please, Dean, for me?’

‘Fine. Just – just don’t expect a damn miracle.’

* * *

The next time Dean wanted to cut, he did. And he relished the way it felt to do the exact opposite of what Sam had asked.

That is, until he heard his brother come home with dinner.

Coming out of the bathroom seemed to admit his guilt; the way Sam looked at him as if he knew exactly what he’d been doing settled a stone in his gut. Maybe he could just _try_ it Sam’s way. Just once. Maybe he’ll fully intend to mean it this time.

* * *

Dean felt the unsettling ache under his skin after their next job too. It wasn’t a hard case; no one else had died. On all accounts, it was the ideal outcome. They’re only vaguely bruised by the end of the salt and burn, and the sleepy rural town can carry on none the wiser about the danger they were in.

It sickens Dean a little that these people can continue their apple pie lives without the knowledge of the things that go bump in the night.

Sometimes he mourns his lost childhood. Most days, he just mourns it for Sam.

His fingers itch. There has always only been one way a night like this will end; the anticipation makes him restless.

Once again, Sam’s eyes are on him from the second they get back to the motel and it makes Dean want to start throwing punches.

Instead, he storms into the bathroom, fingers shaking as he opens the shitty little medicine cabinet and tugging the little pack of blades out of his washbag.

Dean freezes. He knows he’ll regret this.

Right now, though, he needs to do something, else he’s pretty sure he’ll explode.

Sam is waiting just out side the door when Dean re-emerges, because of course he is. The soft look on his face just makes Dean want to hit him more.

‘ _There._ ’ Dean grits out, slamming the little pack of razors onto the table by the window, which is currently still strewn with newspaper articles and notes from the hunt. He almost laughs at the look of surprise on his brother’s face; clearly, he didn’t have that much faith in his ability to stop hurting himself.

‘Thank you, Dean,’ he says after a beat.

It makes the tight band wrapped around Dean’s chest loosen a little bit. ‘I’m going out.’

‘Where?’ Sam asks, reaching for his coat.

‘Think I saw a bar around the corner. Reckon we’ve earnt a night off.’

‘I’ll come with,’ Sam says immediately.

Dean just hums, heading for the door, his brother in hot pursuit.

**Author's Note:**

> So there it is!
> 
> If youd like more, let me know because i wouldnt mind continuing this


End file.
